


Segmentectomy

by imanadultiguess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of post-surgery grossness, mentions of lung cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imanadultiguess/pseuds/imanadultiguess
Summary: Jim and Sebastian deal with the grief of a cancer diagnosis and surgery in the characteristic ways.





	Segmentectomy

Through the haze of anaesthesia and morphine, I can barely make out the tube hanging out of my chest, and for a moment, I worry I'm having organs stolen. The surgeon is far away, or atleast his voice is. I see his mouth moving, but it's not in sync with the echoing I hear. "Don't tug at those. They're just draining the fluid is all."

I look around for the boss. He's not in sight. "Whaffluid?" I hear myself ask. My voice is in slow motion.

Darkness takes me again before I can hear the answer.

~~

The site of the thorachotomy hurts like a bitch. Someone's hands are grabbing mine. "Keep still, sir, you'll be all right."

"Fuckin' hurts," I tell the hands attached to my nurse.

"I know." He checks his wrist. "We'll get you doped up again in about an hour. Maybe less if Dr Gaines will sign off."

 _Right. I'm in hospital._ The tumor they found in my lung. _Fuck, when was the last time I had a cigarette?_

The last time I'd been sliced open, I'd enjoyed a limited edition Bolivar cigar. The circumstances were vastly different, though, involving a run-in with the most dangerous woman in London, so I doubt the medical staff surrounding me would allow that. Maybe Jim'll bring me one.

Where is he?

"Where's Rich?" I ask with great effort. My tongue is still heavy with morphine and my lips are still dry from the anaesthesia.

I make out the twinges of something sad on his face. "He'll be back soon," he lies.

I want to believe him, but I know Jim Moriarty, and he doesn't look back.

~~

"What day is it?" I ask Dr. Gaines as he's updating my profile on his mobile medical laptop thing.

"Tuesday."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Going on day two. But everything seems to healing nicely, so hopefully you'll be out of here in four."

I kick the scratchy hospital sheets off my feet. You'd think that patronizing a private hospital would mean better service than the usual NHS shit, but you'd be wrong. Jim would be furious, but Jim's not here.  My hands shake.  Irritability pumps through my veins along with this goddamn IV fluid.

"Havin' the worst nicotine withdrawals, doc."

"I'm sure you are, Severin. Your chart says you used to smoke two packs a day."

"Still do."

"Not if you want to be served at this hospital." He claps the laptop closed. "Make sure he doesn't sneak off to smoke," he tells the nurse.

"Has, erm, has Rich been by?"

The nurse shakes her head. If only morphine worked on those nasty emotional wounds. . .

~~

By the third day the pain is tolerable, but I don't let on lest they down my dosage. The incision itches, and it's difficult to breathe like I used to, even with just a small segment of my lung missing. I'd tried once or twice to sneak off to find cigarettes but I'd gotten winded before I reached the staircase, making it easy for the staff to corral me back to my room.

"I'm sorry about Rich," the night nurse says while she's taking my blood pressure.

"No skin off my nose."

"Some people just aren't strong enough, are they? Their partner gets sick, and they just vanish."

I snort. She doesn't know Moriarty, but I suppose she's not wrong about the vanishing part.

He's probably lined someone up to murder me as soon as I leave the hospital. Moriarty has no use for a Chief of Staff with a mutilated left lung and a propensity for producing cancerous cells. Wish he'd do it now, though, to avoid the fucking nicotine withdrawals.

And, you know, the fucking heartache.

~~

"Miss me?"

I'm floored to awake to Jim Moriarty leaning over me, a devilish smile on his face. He presses a kiss to my lips.

"The fuck've you been?"

"Working. Scooch."

Before I even start to slide over, he's climbing beneath my blankets, giggling like a boy. He settles against my right side, unusual for my lefthanded boss. "All the notes say you're recovering well. Might not even have to do the chemo." He reaches beneath the hospital gown to ghost over the incision site between my ribs.

"Seriously, where've you been?"

He sits up, suddenly quite manic. "I've a present for you."

"Are you here to kill me?"

"Don't be daft." He grabs the remote by my bedside and flips through to a news station.

 _Cruise Ship Sinks, No Survivors_ reads the scrolling text at the bottom.

The bald reporter elaborates. "Rescue efforts have been unsuccessful in locating any survivors. The ship went down 200 miles off the coast of North Carolina. Princess Cruiselines has yet to comment on the accident. Here's Fiona Ingmar with the story. Fiona?"

I mute the telly.  "How's that a present for me?"

Jim strokes my chest, careful to avoid the incision this time. "Dr Bolchoz was on it!"

"My GP?"

"Yeah!"

"You sank an entire ship to murder my GP?"

His face falls, mildly hurt that I'm not catching on. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because he's the one that found the cancer."

"He _found_ the cancer, love; he didn't give me it."

"Haven't you heard of shooting the messenger?  It's therapeutic." Jim nuzzles his cheek against my chest. "I don't like this side. I can't hear your heart beat."

"Izzat where you've been? Hopped across the pond to murder my GP while I've been recovering from surgery to have part of my lung cut out?"

"You sound upset."

"I thought you'd tapped out. Thought maybe the cancer was more than what you wanted in a live-in one."

"I'm not going to _forgive_ you for having cancer if that's what you're getting at."

I laugh for the first time in a long while. "You could've told me where you were going."

"Then it wouldn't've been a suprise."

"You didn't have to kill my doctor, you know."

He leans up suddenly, staring at my face. His intensity makes me shrink back into the bed. I hold my breath.

"It wasn't solely for you, Moran.  Seeing fluid being drained from your lung post-op was . . . upsetting.  Someone had to make up for it."

"You being gone for four days after my surgery was upsetting. I thought you'd jumped ship."

"Oh honey. You'll have to do better than a cancer diagnosis to shake me."


End file.
